


Facing death is easy, facing life is hard

by JetBalance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, POV Severus Snape, Post-War, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetBalance/pseuds/JetBalance
Summary: Severus Snape never meant to live through the War. He and peace and hope just don't fit together in his mind. Finding something thrilling and uncommon to engage with helps to fight the true horror of survival. A man like Snape can escape anything and solve everything but himself.
Kudos: 2





	1. Reverse chronicle of events

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I don’t tend to write fanfiction or write in English much. I am not native, though I deem my vocabulary quite rich and grammar at the least decent. I may struggle with syntax and times. Due to the nature of my native language, I tend to overcomplexify stuff in general. If you get through this boring and cumbersome text and feel charitable enough to lend me your superior knowledge of English and brush through it a bit, feel free to point out mistakes by any means C:
> 
> Plot-wise this fanfiction seems more of a character study than story-driven adventure, but I intend on doing both. This will contain some gruesome themes and things, though not graphic, unfit for many young readers. I highly doubt characters would even try to perform romance, to be honest, so it's Gen, but who knows, who knows. This is a story about lost people, wasted time, uncertain future and missing closures. Not sure where it will take me in a span of few chapters ahead, I have vague outline of story after chapter 10, it could pretty well turn into roadtrip story or magic detective, but feel free to guess. Any feedback is welcome, also, please, suggest tags.  
> I hope that if you read this story you enjoy it ;)

Severus didn’t know if he was dead or alive, let alone where he was. He woke with a start to the sound of rain in blue hour of twilight, part numb, part sore. As his eyes took in surroundings, he couldn’t recognise the place. Overwhelming smell of wood, wet and dry, the whispering draught somewhere between the glass and frame of the window, everything felt strange and unfamiliar. Any wizarding family would place enchantments on their house. No, he was somewhere else.  
Agitated, the wizard tried to shoot out of the bed, but found his body completely unresponsive to his will. Small gesture, like turning his head or raising his hand, rewarded him with sharp pain in the neck and nauseating feeling of weakness.  
At least, now he knew he was not dead.  
Time went uneventfully slow, as he felt bored and helpless. Fingers climbed all the way to his throat and found the source of pulling and restricting sensation there. Bandages felt tight and crisp, all the way from below his Adam’s apple to his chin. Behind his ears, too. Severus wondered, what soul would take it upon themselves to rescue a man like him. Memories of the last moments burned vividly under his eyelids, Nagini’s bite, a rapid bloodloss, silvery shot of memories bursting from him with the last whisper, and Lily’s eyes… Harry Potter’s green eyes.  
Had The Boy Who Lived lived this time? Had he died? Was the war over? Had the Dark Lord prevailed? Had some muggle or uninvolved wizard happened to wander into unplottable part of Scottish wilderness that concealed Hogwarts with an impossible amount of equipment and skills to save lives? No, wait, Shrieking Shack was way beyond the wards.  
Snape was lying in a habitable house, and he was certain he saw a glimpse of fire lit downstairs in a corner of his bleary eye, shadows moving, wood cracking merrily at the distance.

“Ye moved! Ye are awake!” came the raspy yet annoyingly high-pitched voice from the door frame with no actual door. Severus, who drifted off into a light slumber, as rainy evening transitioned to night, was immediately startled awake. He tried to jump on his legs, wand drawn, battle ready, but one small change in position of his head had him hissing from pain. He saw white and red spots burst in eyes, as a woman rushed to his side.  
“Don’ move, please, don’t. You wanna drink? I’ll fetch ya sum! Just please, don’ move!”  
Snape was instantly annoyed by the woman’s bickering presence, but relaxed. Little did he know that this torture would only persist.

First thing she said that stormy night, bringing him herbal tea and honey to soothe his croaking voice, was that her name was Holly Gale.  
He pointed out, that it was too telling to be given at birth, even by wizarding standards, and she started giggle like a schoolgirl. That was because her home was surrounded by holly and she was found during a terrible storm. But of course.

The following days Severus discovered a hundred facts like this and none of true importance. He was stuck in the middle of literal nowhere with a fairly annoying hermit completely detached from reality, wizarding and muggle alike. She claimed no knowledge of wars and wizarding world and constantly referred to some ‘Nana’. Nanny, Severus figured, taking in consideration her Irish sounding brogue that, combined with a thousand words a minute, gave him violent headaches and made him covertly roll his eyes. The woman was definitely a witch, judging by her wardrobe, but ‘a strange witch’ didn’t even start to describe her.  
She knew little to no magic besides practical household charms and cantrips and would rarely draw her wand, casting with gestures, sometimes silently. Her brown-black hair, growing so long that she had to wrap loose braid twice around her neck like a duke’s regal chain to keep it from whipping around, had a single streak of gray above her forehead. ‘Amnesiac’, Snape decided finally, ‘and almost certainly mad’.

“How do you have these Muggle clothes?” he croaked with voice that sounded alien and unpleasant to him, tucking shirt with a faded print of some band from eighties into jeans that almost fell from him. Old rags he was changing in belonged to a muggle man almost twice his size, but Holly had nothing else to offer. Layers of clothes piled on top to keep him warm, but he was freeing nonetheless.  
“A friend stayed here, he comes sometimes. Who’s Muggle tho? His name is Eric, a lovely lad, brings me cloth and whole lotta things for my honey, nuts and herbs. Repairs my roof sometimes, you know. I saved his arse from his burning vehicle on the road to the south...”  
He tried to ask as little as he could. Firstly, to spare his raspy throat and short breath. Secondly, she started to babble if he expressed a modicum of interest in communication. She poured him with stories of her uneventful life like a person starved of attention, so, usually, he tuned her out as fast as he got an answer and she would mercifully retreat into her silent fussing.

There were lots of things to consider, though. Holly said she was well into her teens when Nana picked her up just outside the forest. She acted and looked like a child with greyed hair. She claimed to wander off now and then, drawn by vivid dreams and pull to act into strange places and helping people in need, though she skipped details how she got there and who she would heal. She contacted with muggles, obviously, but seemed unaware of her striking difference from them. It did not confuse her that nobody was able to find her unless she brought them to the warded, if not uplottable, grounds.  
“And what does your Nana say about it? That you bring strangers and men to your house” he finally lashed out, bewildered. Practical, ever-calculating and fairly paranoid, he could hardly believe her selfish and innocent facade, or that she survived so long like this in the world full of dangers. Even though she was competent enough to run household with little magic now and then, this Holly seemed even more mental at every second glance. She was in need of caretaker herself. That ‘Nana’ of hers, that warded the house and grove…  
“She wouldn’t approv’, of course, but she passed away. I’m alright doin’, just lonely and miss her terribly”.  
Snape sank deep into fresh sheets, smelling only faintly trace of natural lye and her herbs, ready to howl both in disdain and wicked amusement. As she fed him another salt-free meal, he dared to unravel the exact timeline of an unelectrified madhouse he was stuck in.  
“How long have you been alone?”  
“Three winters, as it seems. No, wait, it’s four”.  
“And you’ve been living here?..”  
“For about twenty years”.  
Right. This was a madhouse. This was surreal.  
He had to sleep on this revelation.


	2. Humility and humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter of set-ups and outlining of characters, after this events will start spinning. I myself am not a fan lover of OCs dominating stories and tell-don't-show approach to storitelling, so I promise to avoid them as much as I can.

As days went by, Snape’s movement around the house was still limited by his stiff limbs and unusual fatigue. Dependant on caretaker, he spent almost all of the waking time by her side. Bored out of his mind and slightly ashamed of his helplessness, Severus decided to piece together this puzzle of her. There was a lack of food for thoughts beside it. Eventually he had do give his scepticism a leave due to multiple evidence of genuinity on this Holly’s part, provided with complete inability to lie about the smallest things in comparison. Soon, he had to admit that his curiosity was piqued.  
General notions of wand magic, spells, magical and non-magical beings and some attributes of both worlds were known to her. She missed the radio or slipped that her friends, whose clothes Snape borrowed, tried to help her with electricity or gas to no avail. This childish unskilled witch in her thirties that fussed around him and tried to keep him company could be one of the numerous victims gone missing during the First Wizarding War. Severus just could not pin her plain face with pale freckles and sunken eyes to any name from his school years. He hardly knew a single student outside his immediate circle of housemates, bullies and recurring partners in classes. In his teens he was an insecure poor like dirt half-blood in a viper’s nest. Some merry cuddly Hufflepuff dwarf of a girl a year of three junior to him could easily slip his mind.  
Or, maybe, she never attended the school in the first place, and it was better this way. With the most renowned wizarding families from Ireland either migrating to America during the famine or integrating with families of Roman and other ancestry, she was likely to be a half-blood or Muggleborn. Easily a target for rampaging Death Eaters back then.

One day he almost felt too clever for his own good. When they undressed after a walk, she landed a lingering and unusually silent gaze on his faded Death Mark, and her eyes went glazed for a long moment. Then, noticing him pulling back cardigan as they sat next to fire and had dinner, Holly retreated from her thoughts and said:  
“Nasty stuff, that scar. I’d be scared if I dreamt of snake and skull”.  
Her words sounded refined and strikingly insincere. There was something there. Was she afraid?  
“It was mistake of my youth that cost me dearly”.  
“Uh-huh”.  
She was a considerate, mindful woman, recognising unspoken boundaries and drawn borders a child he mistook her for wouldn’t see. But this, this was completely different. As she went out to dump their waste, Severus felt his sleepiness and comfort disappear. The Dark Mark faded and didn’t burn once since he woke up more than a week ago, giving him hope that the war was truly over and he was free of his masters and vows. Yet it concerned him once more.  
He knew he would be haunted for the rest of his life, no matter the deeds or winning side. After the second fall of Voldemort every Death Eater would be hunted and persecuted with tripled vengeful zeal. In the best case scenario Potter would jump to his defence and vouch for him and push for his full pardon, just like Dumbledore did back when he was twenty one. And, of course, he would never hear the end of it and be left alone for his devices. Prospect of being stuck in another debt didn’t thrill him that much. Forced appreciation felt even worse.

Holly had a tick or two to the left side of her face, he saw it close now and then as she let him lean on her five and an inch feet tall frail frame. Her right hand burned to the touch, seemed reddish and seared at closer examination. Her fingers, in contrast, were always ice-cold and sent shivers down Severus’ spine when they clutched on his bare skin, leeching every bit of body heat he barely preserved. Black, grey and white feathers were woven in her single long and thin braid. She dangled with hair often. Clear signs of neuroticism sprinkled her mannerism with high-pitched voice babbling and causeless laughter. And still, this Holly, that transformed into simply Holly, had no idea who he was and didn’t care where he came from. It seemed astoundingly noble and selfish at the same time, that she made her life goal to put together and mend damaged people while she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) recognise the need to mend herself. Still, no matter how bitter and lonely this whole arrangement felt, he needed her care for a time being and could tolerate everything besides.

When by the third week Snape regained most his independence, he felt almost guilty of treason he was yet to commit. With most of the puzzle solved, the mixture of annoyance, curiosity, gratitude and shame he felt faded to a simple pity. Holly had nothing to offer him anymore, he had nothing to help her with in return.  
“Do you know where we are? I mean, we are in Britain, but what county is this?” he asked, feeling that he already knew the answer.  
“Sorry, I dunno”.  
She couldn’t even name exact dates or places, living like a pagan by solar and lunar cycles and stars, completely detached from rest of the world. For her, it was now past Mabon, a quarter moon before Samhain. Late October, then, he thought and sighed, buttoning well-worn woolen shirt to go outside. He was stuck in this neverwhere for too long, and he craved some grounding to feel real. He wanted to flee this moody quiet place and run into trouble, run into adventure, find anything to make his heart beat fast and blood pound in his head.  
Her house deep in the woods was indeed surrounded by holly. Not the holly Potter’s wand was carved from, thank Merlin, these were breeds imported from America and selected for their mostly edible properties. He had jam with inkberry every other day. There were also gooseberry, dried apples and preserved plums, nuts, herbs, small greenhouse with fresh staples growing there the whole year with a little bit of magic, happy little hens and a goat to provide eggs and milk. When the logical question if she had enough for the winter arose, Holly simply laughed and assured him that with oats and cheese in her cellar she could live for years.

“Walk me where my Nana rests?” asked him Holly after she showed him the farthest corner of her worked grounds, where the orchard faded into forest and she picked brushwood.  
She grew increasingly quiet and despondent as days went by. ‘I already told you everything there is’ she smiled and laughed sadly. She said ‘sorry’ a lot. She had bad dreams, she said. He did not pry, but, being bored and uncertain of his course of action, he wanted to.  
Severus Snape was the opposite of sentimental. Some people could easily spin a bittersweet romantic tone to his tragedy of life, but the truth was less poetic and benign. Maybe he was a bit too conscientious, but he accepted himself as he was, flaws and all. Severus never shook his shadow. Hence why he was so proficient with Dark Arts, borderline immoral Mind magic and would not give up on them. When he fucked up with the only woman he fancied in his life, it was his own unforgiving nature that took command of his actions, driving him to make mistakes and seek redemption for years on. Only with the vision of Lily he saw, drawing what Severus thought to be last breath, could he let himself finally go.  
One thing he knew for sure, there was nothing more disgusting than pity to him. And he wanted to slap himself for indulging in it, as the woman that lived a fake hollow life of Holly Gale, after whatever calamity that happened to erase her, seemed okay in her skin. Perhaps he had something to learn from her before departing.  
“There she is…" said Holly, her usually fake and saccharine voice sounding low and full of warmth.  
The grave was tended, with a stone framed with old Nana’s gardening glory. Withered briar petals mixed with fallen leaves covered it like carpet. Single unmoving portrait of her and Holly Gale in porcelain was the only clue to the person resting here. Curiously enough, even with an odd angle and low quality muggle photography, he recognised, that old woman from portrait looked slightly unhuman to him, with big eyes, frail disproportionate arms and pointed features.  
‘No wonder these two were spending years in hiding,’ Snape mused, his thoughts shifting to Filius, Hagrid and Umbridge's debacle. Part-humans were lower that half-bloods in many regards even if their parents were all of magical ancestry. This was utterly pathetic but Severus never had any say in it.  
“Your Nana has very kind eyes”.  
“She does…” bloodless lips of tiny witch spread with the same soft and dreamy smile.  
Merlin, Severus _was_ getting sentimental.


	3. Better safe than sorry

Cold and calculating personality suited Severus just fine. He was good at operating covertly and concealing his agenda. There was a lot to learn from Dumbledore’s and Voldemort’s games over the years in their service. It grew on him and helped greatly in espionage to understand how their mind worked and how they moved pieces.  
In situations that required him to be a decent human being, however, he fell short of empathy and persuasion and employed fear instead. With most of the world playing by the rules that Dumbledore with his immence charms abused, Snape’s social skills backfired on him spectacularly on regular basis. He was distancing from unnecessary or dangerous relationship rather then forging and maintaining false facade. His distrustful nature and instinct to bite any hand extended to him rather than risk being wronged didn’t help either. Better safe than sorry, his motto was. People wouldn’t understand where he was coming from, and didn’t need to. In general, he was lonely, guarded individual, whose trust was hard to gain and almost impossible to keep if he spotted anything suspicious. And he overthought minor stuff a lot.  
“Eric will come ‘ere for Christmas, I’m sure. He drives for living, he can take you anywhere, y’ know”.  
There she was, with her excusing smile and knowing eyes. Snape had a particularly gloomy mood and wanted to sneer and say something scathing about many of Holly’s flaws that irked his refined tastes. For someone who spent too much time in toxic relationship with toxic people he was just unable to adequately react to people trying to be considerate and nice.  
Maybe she suspected that he was ready to uproot, stealing her precious Nana’s wand, as Holly had none herself. He spent several weeks practising wandless magic with her, showing her all the useful spells and studying her natural inclination for everyday miracles that made her life easier. Convincing himself that he needed this wand, learning about it to calculate, if he could subdue it to use to his ends, or he would have to talk Holly into letting him borrow it.  
And now he was presented with solution he would take to keep his conscience clean, but was not content with. The muggle driver could drop him by his childhood house, but what was the purpose of it? He had other destination in mind, and no means but magical could get him there.  
‘She can’t be rushing me out’ he pondered, leashing his paranoia in line, ‘she might be just inclined to help with whatever she has to offer’.  
This hauntingly generous and selfless host was elated to discover he could do magic back in October and never once shown any distrust or suspicion that he could turn it against her. They practiced a lot, taking genuine pleasure in throwing spells left and right. Severus forgot how simple magic could be used with knowledge and steady focus without a wand. He always trained wandless and non-verbal spells for battle. Turned out, he could lead a live like this on his own, if he wanted to.  
_If_ he wanted to. He felt restless at the thought.  
It was nauseating to know how some people can settle for something simple and nice and be happier that he ever would be. Man like Snape strived for excellence and conquest. For him, it was never enough. He craved misery, complications and mischief. He indulged in complexity and sour taste of good drama. He felt jealous of and contemned by content nice people at the same time. Such attitude inspired an uncomfortable urge to respond in kindness in almost any human being. This didn’t sit quite right with his picture of himself. It was too difficult to admit own humanity and switch between monster and person at will.

The first snow painted Holly’s murky grove with white highlights and blue shades in the morning of November 17th. He counted days and hours, approximately, to keep track of time and keep himself from going insane. There were some silver linings to his stay. Holly’s harvests were stocked well for lesser potions he knew about but never cared to brew, as rare and more powerful ingredients and means of their preparation were always available to him in Hogwarts and in the Dark Lord’s service. Now he had time to try, and Holly readily lended him both her late Nana’s wand, ‘cookbook’ and pots. The old wand felt relatively weak, but was obedient enough for Snape to start throwing spells for amusement of it, to Holly’s genuine adoration.  
“Again, again! I’ll get it this time!” she asked, almost jumping in her seat. That night he showed her patronus. It was paling in comparison with the last time he employed it in war, but still retained it’s shape and essence. Severus winced, almost physically pained, heavy lump suffocating him deep his chest.  
“No, this is advanced spell that requires strong will and certain background to master,” he refused as tactful as possible. Snape had no intention to give her more insights into his personal matters.  
Dumbledore and most of his pets boasted love as an ultimate power of light. It was potent, indeed, but Severus doubted most of them ever truly loved. In his reality, love never was the opposite of egocentrism and hatred that associated with so called Dark Side. In reality, nothing else in the world caused more violence, destruction and blood than love. It simply acted in more ways, most of them unseen and subtle, to cause pain. Malevolence of someone’s desire to hurt and acquire no matter the cost was simple, you just had to brace yourself or be overwhelmed. Malevolence of love was that, once given, it made everything else pale in comparison. And, once taken, either by being unrequired, wronged by action, withered by hardship or simply destroyed with the embodiment of longing and desire, it left the howling abyss that could never be filled. There was no fault in something so beautiful yet short lived, no pleasure or justice in picking on it’s bones. Just endless pain.  
“I wish it could work this well for me!” Holly proclaimed, dragging him out of his melancholy. Jealousy was surprisingly missing from her voice and face expression. “Ye must be terrible good wizard, then”.  
“Oh, you’d be surprised” Snape smirked.  
He proceeded by explaining whatever he knew about wandlore, letting her comment on his prowess slide. Severus used to revel in his excellence in most magical arts. He was prideful to a fault, and easily hurt at that, which produces a volatile combination sure to go off in an impending disaster. Years ahead as double agent taught him to leash his ego in line and learn to give off an air of humility and respect. Deep inside, however, he remained himself, much to the detriment of his life. No matter how he occluded, the Dark Lord must have smelt it in him the first time they met.

“How exactly did you save me, can you explain?” he asked her, winding through the scrawny handwritten journal later in the day. It took him too long to decipher cryptic writing on the yellowed paper, and he marked messy essays in Hogwarts for years to be well-versed in it. So it was about time he stopped sniffing around and just asked.  
“It was a nightmare. I found you in a pool of blood, tthought you dead but tried a blood potion just in case. you kept spilling it on me all the way back here. I’ve wasted helluva lot of these, and Dittany too, only on you”. 'Are you able to apparate, then?'  
“The poisoned wound wouldn’t just close. What did you use as an antidote?”  
“I found a powder from the back notes as soon as I figured that ye blood smelled foul and applied it to the wound. I had to clear the paste out trice before it would start to clot.”  
Severus nodded, searching for said powder. He recognised common and uncommon ingredients for antidotes one could scrap across Britain. The formula was sketchy and ineffective, like tree bark teas used to alleviate fevers in muggle traditional medicine, but it was balanced in arithmantic sense, no components interfered with each other properties. It seemed to work. Snape raised an eyebrow. As potioneer he could not approve of such a barbaric waste of resources. The unnecessary use of valerian plant and asphodel could low both bloodloss and spread of toxin _and_ recovery. Pulverized bezoar was suboptimal. But he still respected the effort. Does it even matter, how much it costs, to save a life. Voldemort and Dumbledore were the ones who played Machiavellian games, trading living people for their goals. He just owed another debt to live to pay.  
“But of course," he murmured, touching scarring of his neck, still raw and angry red.  
Tha powder could bind poison in damaged tissues just fine, but couldn’t leave unmoving body with low blood pressure as a way more active potion could. It slowed him in general. This explained long period of recovery. His body could still have Nagini’s poison in it and he should be cautious.  
“Do you have much medicine left in stock?”  
“Uh, no. These were all composed by Nana. I tried Dittany myself, but it turned up not quite right.”  
“How?”  
“‘Twas thick as glaze. Still used it on yer scarring and bruising, tho, it helped a lot.”  
Snape hid his face in his hand and lanky hair, trying to be nice but barely containing laughter. Rarely did he encounter a witch or wizard this disastrously bad. With all the best intentions, her knowledge of precise and volatile magical art of healing barely exceeded program of third year. But, as people said, even a stopped clock was right twice a day.

The unsettling feeling of superiority reigned in Snape’s head. As much as he wanted to mitigate strain his presence put on her life for the past several months, he felt temptation to abuse Holly’s trust and ignorance to his devices. He had recovered quite well, he had access to all her valuable property. Charming his clothes into something fitting and then apparating and glamouring himself was a piece of cake for him. He wouldn’t even have to lie to her to excuse himself from her life. When the subject of spells and wands resurfaced the following day, she asked about his wand.  
“If it was not on me or around when you came to mend me, someone had taken it and left” he shrugged. Of course, he missed that piece of ebony wood. Nothing about Nana’s willow wand felt familiar and right, even if he could subdue it into cooperation. It was tool unfit for his use, and Severus was a selfish, jealous man to share his things. But the war is the war, any weapon would be better than none, and he was lying there too busy dying to care.  
“Tis’s not nice. I may have no wand o’ mine own, but I wouldn’t like anything plundered from my body,” she frowned and crossed her arms on her chest. This was a moment he remembered that he was not dealing with a child. There was something to her language, to the way she operated with notions and words beyond her sketchy brogue, that Snape classified as maturity of mind. He avoided the word wisdom as he saw too much of Dumbledore’s darker side.  
“You could get one”.  
“I have no money and I am not going out unless I have to," she cut. They were standing amidst the trees covered in white frost, faint warm sunlight started creeping in. It couldn’t be in Southern England, Snape already thought, too chilly and crisp for late November.  
“Too bad I don’t, too. We are even in the knutless department”.  
It didn’t feel like mitigating damage. In fact, Severus thought he saw a glimpse of… what? Covert hostility? Passive aggressive behaviour? Defensive rejection of the unknown? He didn’t know, the expression was lost to the moving shadows.  
“You could go outside. Find ye wand, bring me one. Or just return Nana’s. I cherish it," Holly spun around and gestured westwards. “Tis way you’ll always find a way. If you can’t come back, I’ll be walking there at dusk to meet you”.  
“And if I don’t come back?”  
“That wouldn't be nice of you," she pursed her dry chapped lips.  
“I mean, for a week or so”.  
“Then that’s no problem”.  
She still clutched close the shawl that covered her from head to waist. Snape felt distrust and weariness he did not like in her. Then she spoke again, something confusing and irrelevant to him:  
“The winter is all over you, one should not venture far from home in times like these”.  
Snape shook the snow that slowly covered his dirty head. Bomber he wore had hood, but he didn’t want to raise due to his selective squeamishness and disdain from using clothes that belonged to someone else.  
‘That won’t be nice’, she said. _He wasn’t nice_ , never’d been and never will. He had trails to deal with. And this last cryptic part that she spilled after few days of deafening silence and meaningless exchanges about domestic chores, it unsettled him even more.  
_Her thick accent was almost gone_ , Snape realized.  
“Until later, then,” he waved, turning back to her and pretending to walk away.  
She didn’t move one bit. A scripted cheerful projection of that Holly Gale, with her Irish ‘a’ fading to short ‘o’ and voice pitching at the end of the sentence in the back of his mind contrasted with eerie pause that oozed undercurrent lies.  
He spun and pointed wand to her forehead, grabbing her by the nape of her neck before the could cover.  
‘ _Legilimens_ ’ he whispered, just in case this wand needed hearing a spell to produce sufficient focus for invasive magic.  
Startled birds were all gone before the scream died out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-hey-hey, here comes the first cliffhanger


	4. A little hatred

If Voldemort helped himself with fear, Dumbledore used charisma and both had distinct presence, Snape considered subtlety his ultimate edge. The one that he forwent this time around, feeling too strong and lucky for any meaningful feedback to come his way.  
Leaden patches of mist retreated from his way as he moved through it, but blank grayish mind with charred black soil just didn’t seem to end. It was the moment of entrance that took most of legilimens' skill, but there was no sole answer to each human riddle. Interpretation of individual mindscape was a matter of luck, knowledge and gut feeling. There was no telling if you were led astray by competent occlumens, either. To try to unravel chaotic trail of images was not unsimilar to piecing puzzle with no borders. It could never end or give unnecessary details if you had no lead and focus. The easiest trick was to inspire right thoughts before trespass and ride the flow immediately afterwards. Unless one liked to be a creep and peek into student’s petty daydreams. Luckily, whatever disturbed Holly Gale’s trusting nature, was already lurking there, and Snape chased after it like a hound smelling blood.  
Finally, the mist stopped clinging to his usual mental-self in black robes and Severus was facing small dark red pond. The scent in the air was stale and foul, but metallic sting was mercifully absent from the menu today. Snape was pretty sure it was not a real scenery and had no interest in watching such distasteful overdramatic installation to play out longer than he could find another lead.  
‘I see you, you cannot hide,’ he thought, glimpsing something dark and pale submerged below unclear, but still transparent water. He knelt close to the rim of bloody pond, mindful to keep his balance with left hand clawing into dark brown grease, and touched the surface.  
‘It’s only water,’ he mused, relieved, that he was spared more silly theatricals.  
Bubbles started rising from the bottom of the pond. A woman’s head appeared above water surface. Her face bore all the same features that belonged to Holly Gale, dark hair flowing all around her naked neck and shoulders, yet that was where resemblance ended. Her eyes shot open and illusion fell at once. This witch looked middle aged and fairly scarred. If looks could kill, she was sharp as a cursed knife, her greenish eyes cold, piercing and empoisoned by pure hatred.  
‘Nice try to hide and ward off your mind with a picture of yourself. Bold, but unwise, because I can easily break through it’.  
“What do you want, Death Eater?” the woman asked him, ignoring the threat lingering in his mocking thought. He wondered if this was not just a ward, but, rather, dreamt encounter she had envisioned in case of such occurrence. Or, perhaps, she tried to counterspell him when he invaded her mind. Highly improbable, but still possible.  
‘So you _do_ recognize who I am’.  
“I know every single one of you. I should kill you”.  
Snape forced himself away from water as fast, as he could, but the mud kept sticking to him, slowing him, keeping him glued to the place. So this _was_ a trap. The woman screeched like a bloody banshee, reaching out for him with burnt right hand. Severus was used to all the sorts of repulsive creatures, spying on uhumanly looking aberration for the last three years and spending his life with students that were capable of all the sorts of spiteful, nasty things. He considered himself to be pretty repulsive, both in looks and character. But this unpleasant surprise with Bella’s psychotic gaze made him think, what could happen to him if he was not trained to use mind charms. As the mindscape collapsed, he retreated from it with a single willful pull.

His muscles were strained, barely keeping both him and the limp body of Holly in his grip upright. Severus felt lightheaded and chilled to the bone, but, otherwise, fine. Pale face of unconscious witch that finally showed her true colors made him overthink his intrusion in her mind twice. Innocent looks could mislead most people, not him, but he still was unsure how real was the staged show that inner Holly was. He found her wand hand, now clearly seeing that it was badly burned, and checked faint scars tracing from her left temple and above forehead down, disappearing in robes she always put on herself. They all appeared in right places and seemed more pronounced than before. Good. Not good for Holly, obviously, Severus would never wish anyone to be misshapen and suffering in any form. It was vital for him to know that his gut feeling was right about her. As if he had a switch that was toggled off for some time and it made him feel odd. Now, this was war, and any means were justified. If some part of this woman covertly wanted to kill him, he had a solid reason to double down on his mistrust and flee with little remorse. Of course, he would tuck Holly, or whatever was she called, under blankets in her house, he wouldn’t disturb her mental state even more with Obliviation, though he was tempted to do so, but that was the extent of his gratitude for her hospitality. Severus may owe her some for saving his sorry life, he might even send some good people to retrieve her, but staying under the same roof with broken woman waiting to awake and bathe in his blood would be extremely unwise.  
Severus took that wand that he wanted to steal for weeks at this point, leaving and shutting door without any lock. Walking westwards as she told him, wizard calmed himself by taking in peaceful surrounding and letting thoughts to drift wherever they might. Clarity of the moment felt refreshing, as if the guilt that held him blindfolded and bound loosened a bit and he broke free.  
Walking out of the forest witch resided in, Severus had a sense of something big and subtle behind his back. He stood still and turned around. As if time and space recoiled behind him while he was not watching, and everything, even his own trace, was gone.  
‘Fascinating’.  
He had a chance to witness quite a few well hidden locations in his life, but every such a grand magical accomplishment never failed to impress him. If not for a strain of war and difficult endspiel Dumbledore abandoned to him to carry through, Snape would be happy to have Hogwarts with its ancient legacy and secrets. A curious man and ardent learner, he never tired of the mysteries, but for the longest time his life was not his own to explore them to heart’s content.  
Chasing unnecessary musings, Severus covered himself in charms and Apparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love when your paranoia about nice people being full of shit pays off so spectaculary before they backstab you? Hope you like it, more chapters will be added soon. Cya <3


	5. There's no place like home

Hogsmeade almost felt like home. Almost.  
Severus Snape rarely visited the wizarding village for pleasure. He hardly socialized with his colleagues, let alone with locals, but several important businesses kept him frequenting it. Or, rather, these were his personal reason to look forward to visit the village. Generally, there were Head’s duties that kept him busy, especially with senior students overestimating their matureness by excessive alcohol intake. Even though most Slytherins had bare minimum decency to refrain from getting shitfaced on regular occasion, sometimes, especially after some major Quidditch win, their tribal instinct kicked in, and then they were some of the worst. Imagine a bunch of pricks born with silver spoons in their mouth becoming drunk, disobedient and unruly. They flexed their parentage on him, mistaking Head’s reasons of special attitude for fear and weakness, and this was absolutely infuriating. Snape generally avoided punishing misconduct on young snakes’ behalf and dodged spells for them even more than Flitwick would for his precious eagles. He couldn’t punish them without hurting the House and his own vested interest in its success or undermining ties with pureblood families. He gave them the worst sobering potions with violent headaches on more occasions than he cared to remember. As years went by, with his experience and reputation mounting on top of the growing age gap, it became a bit easier to rule a herd of royally spoiled teenagers, but then his peers’ spawns started to join the party and Death Eaters were called in again. Snape was all too happy to hand Slytherin back to Slughorn.  
It was the second time he thought about his last term as Headmaster today. Wandering dark eyes locked on the Shrieking Shack for a brief moment. No, he didn’t go there. Severus grimaced and proceeded towards the Broomsticks. He inhaled crisp air deep and flexed knotted muscles of his neck constantly, chasing away unwelcome thoughts and focusing on present, sunny day. It might be uneventful Monday afternoon, judging by lack of students on the streets, but nothing indicated presence of Snatchers’ patrols or other unpleasant features of the Dark Lord’s reign.  
‘I should really stop calling him by his fake title,’ Severus thought. He entered ‘Three Broomsticks’, taking in surrounding. Most of the visitors seemed vaguely familiar at best, the sort of minor characters that grabbed attention once or twice by frequenting their routines around. None were the person of notice, except for the owner. Snape lingered a bit, before Madam herself spotted him and decided to engage.  
“Good day, sir! Can I help you with something?”  
“...Yeah, I think”.  
He didn’t really lay out any course of action, his only plan included two points, both of those he already accomplished. Improvising, he approached the bar and leaned on it before making eye contact with the witch.  
“You are not from here, are you?”  
“Been a while since I’ve been here”.  
His genuinely unsure croaky voice mimicked the rising pitch at the end of each phrase that he listened to for past weeks. Severus decided to go with it because he spelled his overgrown hair to be reddish brown and bushy and his sunken face to be more puff and red. Underdeveloped fake story could proceed to unravel from minor visible details as long as they fit together.  
Rosmerta must have sensed truth in his awkwardness and proceeded to lead the dialog with questions.  
“Fancy a drink, sir…”  
“It’s Farley. I’ve been just passing by, visiting a friend, and," he searched his thin transfigured cloak, placing stolen wand on the counter. He even found crumpled blue £5 note featuring Queen Elizabeth II on the obverse and discarded it instantly, resuming eye contact, “I doubt you accept muggle currency, ma’am”.  
“Indeed, I don’t," Rosmerta smiled, “but one always return a debt”.  
She poured him butterbeer from the keg.  
“What a time to be alive, to be served for free in Hogsmeade these days…” Severus chuckled. The witch raised her eyebrow in response to remark, but still placed the pint in front of him.  
“It’s not like we’re going out of business, mister Farley. I can afford to risk to put faith in a stranger. You clearly have been hiding for too long”.  
Snape winced and shook his head.  
“So, are the students all back now?”  
“Yes, and some commoners, too. Last year was devastating, but we will recover, eventually”.  
“Why the sad face ‘en?”  
“Only some kids expelled by Death Eaters made it back to school now that it’s safe. But, I guess, you wouldn't care”.  
“In fact, I do.”  
He should tread lightly from there on. No matter how natural Severus could be at spilling half-truths and letting on misleading impressions, he should stick to the narrative of being stranger in this place. He wanted to protect his tough decisions during his year as Headmaster. It irked him greatly how it all ended.  
“This war disrupted many lives. Let’s not discuss how bad it’d been”.  
“Well, for those, who are alive, it’s still better to drop out and be well than graduate at the risk of being… the other way around.”  
“If you put it this way, we may even toast to it," Madam Rosmerta nodded politely and excused herself to serve another customer. It was hard to blame her.  
‘Nice job scaring people away, Prince Charmless’, he congratulated himself, slowly downing butterbeer pint. That would be two out of two fuck ups in social interactions since resurrection. Severus didn’t feel guilty. If anything, he was slightly amused. Had they ever held a competition in questionable sports of being arsehole to unsuspecting people, he would win it every time. It felt like being… himself.

After the Broomsticks he went to meet his ‘friend’. Fiver in his pocket and weak wand were better than nothing at all, but couldn’t change much to keep fooling around any longer. Robbing wizarding folk or gambling with drunkards Severus deemed beneath him, and he didn’t really bother with other options. His house was likely to be either heavily warded or ransacked, his discreet presence among the living couldn’t turn tides of war because War was no more. Snape could drop his shenanigans at once and pay a visit to place that was his true home for almost thirty years. There, he would have to count on kindness and mercy of people that chased him out six months ago. They were the ones, whose opinion of his actions actually bothered him.  
Heavy feeling settled in his chest as he approached school grounds. As he was crossing heavy wards, very aware how current Headmaster or, rather, Headmistress may be immediately alerted by his presence, he thought again and again how he missed this place. This ancient cold castle, in which dungeons he dwelled and brewed for years. These grounds, where he was humiliated as a teen. This school, in battle for which he sacrificed his dignity and was finally killed. He wasn’t supposed to feel thrilled to see it ever again, yet he did.  
There they were, the Lake, the half-giant’s hut, the Whomping Willow, that nasty monster of a tree. Shallow snow covered picturesque landscape of Highlands. Icy crust beneath it broke beneath his footsteps with loud crunch, leaving traces anyone could follow. He was cold again and hid frozen hands deep in the pockets with five pounds in one and wand in the other. Closer to the gates, a group of students crossed his path, chatting about their upcoming lesson. Unaware of presence of their former teacher and Headmaster, they hurried inside the courtyard past drawing bridge. Then, another unnoticed character entered the picture. Snape stood and waited, still disguised, as gray tabby cat sniffled around the gateways, finally locking vibrant green eyes on him”.  
“You are not imagining things, Minerva," he finally spoke. With a slow movement of willow wand, he removed all illusions at once and looked into her eyes. The agitated tabby cat froze to the spot was replaced by witch with old-fashioned wide-brimmed hat. For a lady of her stature the word ‘gaping’ could be too harsh, but Minerva McGonagall was at a loss of words.  
‘She is not pointing wand at me openly, but it’s ready to be drawn from her left sleeve pocket’, he noticed. This, he supposed, was the best hospitality he could get. His wand hand was down, but stiff.  
“Severus? Is it truly you?" McGonagall broke their silence first. She made a step towards Snape, then two, drawing left hand up to touch his face in almost motherly nature.  
“Longbottom’s nightmare incarnate himself. A little late for Hallowe’en this year," he smirked, suddenly very aware, that he must’ve appeared to her like a complete stranger. Long fingers raked into his beard, tracing shape of even more gaunt face with long sharp features. In the end, untidy students and dungeon-dwelling imposing creatures didn’t morph into some unshaven Norwegian woodcutters every day. Would it confuse her more, if he leaned into this touch and proceeded with more off-color jokes? Would it finally contain this silly joy of coming back in him?  
“It’s been a long time. We thought you dead, consumed without a trace by that snake’s poison”.  
“That’s not how poison works, Minerva”.  
“You must tell me everything, I won’t let you go before you do. Come”.  
‘That makes two of us’.

Snape sat in cozy chair with hands lulling a cup of chocolate that emanated delightful heat and heavenly smell. There were little changes to Headmaster’s Office, but nothing grand. Fawke’s perch was gone along with phoenix. His own portrait glared at him from the wall. Apparently, his short and rocky rule was not grim enough to be stricken from being memorized by this long-standing tradition next to the predecessor he _killed_. It was Dumbledore who greeted him with remark how wonderful it was to see his boy alive. Due to his unnaturally good and charitable mood, Severus ignored him and did not lash out.  
“As I said, Nagini’s venom is hardly close to alkahest like basilisk’s is”.  
“Severus, please, I didn’t ask you _why_ you were able to survive, I asked you _how_ ," McGonagall leaned in after dismissing elves from her office. Apparently, her choice of sweets was more tolerable than that of Dumbledore’s and consisted mostly of pastries. Snape found himself tempted to wolf them down. “You were missing for months! Where have you been? How have you been? Why did you not come back earlier?”  
‘Why did you not stay dead forever’, he imagined her saying in his brain. A man starved, he passed on answering this very instance, instead washing puff jam tarts down his scratchy throat with more chocolate.  
“Severus," McGonagall pushed on. “Spill it out.”  
“Fine," he sighed, “I don’t know much, but you’re welcome to indulge in my speculations.”


	6. A little heart to heart

They spoke for hours, at first jumping from his confusing story to casualties and happy endings, then to staff and school’s daily routine, then to politics and trials and Merlin knows what else, and then back to him. With cards laid on the table and Heads’ of competing Houses duties gone, they got along quite nicely.  
“What a delightful sight!” Dumbledore commented from the wall. Yes, Severus could imagine, it was, his semi-usurping successor, now former and presumably dead Headmaster after a year of wartime service, and Deputy Headmistress and another Gryffindor that was there to stay and rule for good. What a reunion, considering that it was Minerva that ousted him out of school.  
Old feuds aside, Snape was _starved_ of meaningful intelligent conversation with equals and now revelled in every bit of it. For the acception McGonagall of all people showed him, he offered her brutal honesty he was not sure he possessed since Dumbledore’s death. He let some more spicy and unsavoury details slide, but, otherwise, confirmed or explained every move that left his former teacher and current Headmistress guessing.  
“You made a terribly convincing villain, Severus. I don’t know if I should apologize or just applause to you”.  
“Don’t get me wrong, I _enjoyed_ harassing your Gryffindors and winning Cup for six years straight”.  
“Ugh!” Minerva made disgruntled noise and waved her hand at him. Like a cat presented with freshly cut lemon, he thought. “You’re a brilliant wizard, but needlessly cruel to be a great teacher _and_ a cheater”.  
“It’s called cunning, Headmistress, and it is one of my House’s core values. As for the teaching approach, Slughorn was not strict and fussed over the selected few. He even handed Potter my own textbook to cheat for the whole year”.  
“You learned from him a lot”.  
“Because I wanted to! That’s the point, Minerva. Teacher’s attitude will not discourage those, who want to learn. And those, who need babysitter and constant affirmation, or want a free pass by using someone else’s mastery, do not belong in classes like Potions. To give one idea that they 'possibly approximately somehow can brew' something complex is a recipe for disaster!”  
McGonagall refrained from further argument and he found himself staring into small tabletop mirror yet again. Dumbledore used it to lock averted gazes and pierce into minds. Severus used to endure such probing on more occasions than he cared to remember. Now that the blue eyes and gracious facade of the greatest wizarding mastermind of passing century were gone, he saw only himself. A tired, prematurely graying man, stripped of his secrets and goals down to his essence. This person he could hardly recognize and would not dare to put out for the world to feast on his now public personal drama.  
“We thought you were reduced to dust because the snake itself did. The other ‘prophecy boy’ beheaded that ghastly viper with Godric’s sword in one swing," McGonagall touched him slightly. His clothes were long dissolved to their original muggle state, the coat outlined with trimmed sheep fur removed once he regained body heat. She saw nasty scar across his neck. He told her, that he was not sure if he actually recovered or would just expire some time later.  
“Hm?”  
“Neville Longbottom executed the last part of You-Know-Who before he turned into dust”.  
“That’s… some feat… of the famous Gryffindor mettle, I suppose? Minerva, if you expect me to go and sing praises…”  
Headmistress rolled her eyes.  
“Merlin, no. I just try to keep our conversation going. Anyway, I was going to suggest that you speak with Sybill at some point. Divination could help to figure things out.”  
“I have no intention to mess with any more prophecies. Never, ever, till the day I die.”  
“Severus, my boy," the portrait Dumbledore interjected, “whatever will be your choice, Professor Trelawney still can possess valuable knowledge about fellow seers”.  
'Oh, I see what you did there,' he thought grimly. Eavesdropping and charitably guiding his subjects per usual. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, ladies and gentlemen, the only of his kind, offering his infinite wisdom from beyond the death.  
Well, perhaps Severus was a little bit too sour, given how things played out. It was just his happy ending and consequences of lifetime long war were not ideal. Antiheroes and antivillains, whatever category he fit into more, didn't usually get any satisfactory closure beyond death and/or redemption of sorts.  
“Thank you, Albus. I think it’s time elves prepared new quarters," McGonagall smiled and stood up, looking at her guest. “I won’t warn you from wandering in the castle, but…”  
“Please, spare me instructions. I am well aware my resurrection will provoke mass hysteria," Snape sneered. Elder witch made a surprised face.  
“No need to be so harsh on yourself! I thought you’d rather avoid unnecessary attention.”  
“Do not go out after reading the newest book about you!" advised some other portrait.  
Severus retired early, frustrated and confused. Mayhaps he shouldn't bite another hand that fed him just and act like that, but then, he was tired of the condencending attitude he received after all the sweet little heart to hearts with what he thought were his equals. Oh, the tax of always looking up and messing with people out of his circles was hitting as hard as ever. And then he was all the way back to being the youngest professor after teaching for seventeen years and technically retiring due to a bad (mortal) injury. He had no intention to live fulfilling anyone’s expectations any more and was fully capable to think for himself, yet these people still showered him with suggestions and instructions.  
Snape felt fatigued and unwell and wanted nothing more than to rest and sleep it all off.  
But, in reality, he took every bait he was served today, hook, line and sinker.


End file.
